


Five Times Carlos Was Late For Plans With Cecil (And One Time He Wasn't)

by gildedeggplant



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, First Time, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Shy Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4046878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedeggplant/pseuds/gildedeggplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt from valda!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place just after Episode 16.

Despite what he may have said on air, Cecil knows this is not a date. Which is why he is clearly and obviously dressed for work, and if he has taken special care today in knotting his tie; if he spent the better part of the morning polishing his shoes, well. That’s just professional pride.

In order to show his dedication to the cause of science, he’s even conducted a bit of research. On the table in front of him lay the three wristwatches he has received to mark various years of service in community radio. He glances at the three watch faces, which all show different times. No matter. Carlos said they would meet in the afternoon, and since the sun is no longer directly overhead and the cafe has switched over to their lunch menu, it must be after noon.

He will wait.

Three cups of coffee later, he is beginning to feel nervous. No - concerned. No… nervous. It’s not the caffeine, which simply serves to keep him in metaphysical stasis. It’s just that the longer he sits, the more certain he is that he’s going to say something incredibly foolish as soon as Carlos arrives. “Neat!” he will blurt - or something equally inane - and the non-date will be over before it begins. Will that make it an actual date, he thinks, pondering the double negative?

He feels a hollow stare boring into the side of his face, and turns to see the barista pointedly glowering at his fingernails, which he has been tapping rapidly against the table. “Sorry,” he calls, with a conciliatory smile. It never pays to cross a barista.

When the room is in shadow and the barista is gathering stale barley muffins from the pastry case (later to be thrown into the petting zoo under cover of darkness), Cecil slowly pushes back his chair and gathers up the watches. He orders one more cup of coffee to go - black, with sugar and cream on the side.

At the lab out near Big Rico’s, he stands in the darkness outside the window and watches the single man who remains inside, still doing science at this hour. Carlos is bent over an intricate piece of equipment, fiddling with some knobs on the side. Cecil’s breath catches as the scientist reaches up to push his unruly hair out of his face, tying it back with a rubber band he pulls from his pocket.

Carefully setting the coffee, sugar, cream, and all three watches on the step, Cecil knocks softly on the door, then hops back into his car and drives away before his silly gesture can be discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much action so far, I know, but I always suspected that the "coffee date" never actually happened.


	2. Not a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place sometime before Episode 32.

It began with the coffee, Carlos reflects. The gentle knock, and then opening the door to find the steaming paper cup on the steps - sugar packets and creamer stacked neatly beside it, as if the benefactor was hesitant to make assumptions about lightness and/or sweetness. And then there were the watches, all lined up up a row, as if he was being offered… well… time.

Time…. _shit. Shit shit shit_. He had winced as he noticed, for the first time, the stars appearing in the sky over the desert. How long had he kept Cecil Palmer waiting? And yet, there was nothing in the quiet offering that suggested resentment. Only support and patience - a hand extended in a dark and frightening place.

It was such a human gesture, and looking back, Carlos thinks it marks the moment when he stopped thinking of Cecil as That Vaguely Alarming Radio Guy and started thinking of him as a potential friend. Or more.

Now here it is, exactly one month since their first date, and Carlos is late again - for his own  anniversary dinner this time. He can not, for all the atoms in radium, remember the incantation that will give him access to the jewelry store, and he's unwilling to show up empty-handed. Rapping on the glass, he makes pitiful faces at the jeweler behind the counter, until the dour man finally relents and unlocks the door. Ten minutes (and a truly baffling financial transaction) later, he is sprinting down the street to the restaurant.

Cecil doesn’t notice him right away when he walks in. Probably because Cecil is busy staring down at the table. The look on his face - forlorn, but resigned - stops Carlos mid-stride. How can Cecil still be feeling this way after a month: anticipating abandonment around every corner? For a moment Carlos is paralyzed as he wrestles with the conflicting impulses to scoop his boyfriend into a giant hug, or to decorporealize into a massive puddle of shame.

Then Cecil spots him and instantly transforms into Cheerful Public Cecil, for whom Nothing Is Ever Wrong. Carlos rushes over to give him a quick hug, then holds out the velvet jewelry box. He was going to wait until after dinner, but clearly the situation calls for reinforcements. Cecil’s smile broadens and becomes both more genuine and more tentative. “For me? But… I don’t have anything for you. I didn’t think - “

Carlos cuts that little bit of self-recrimination off at the pass. “I wanted to. Just because you’re you. Open it!”

Cecil opens the box and lifts out the object inside, holding it up to admire. “It’s a watch! Which is wonderful, because I, um… may have left all of mine outside your lab.”

“This one is special, though. It comes from outside of Night Vale, so it actually keeps the correct time. It’s the one true timepiece in all of Night Vale!” He swallows. “Of course, I seem to be the one who’s having trouble with time these days… I’m so sorry I’m late, Ceec. I was getting the watch resized for you, and then I couldn’t get into the jewelry store…” He trails off, because Cecil is just resting his chin on his hand now, gazing over at him in abject adoration, and that’s honestly kind of distracting.

“It’s fine. Don’t even mention it. You’re perfect, as always,” Cecil says. “Thank you so much. Will you put it on me?”

He reaches over to fasten the silver band around the slender wrist, then keeps his hands there, gently stroking a finger down Cecil’s palm. A small gasp escapes the radio host, and Carlos looks up to see that his cheeks are pink and he looks gratifyingly discomfited.

It is at that moment, naturally, that the server arrives to take their drink orders, bestowing a knowing wink upon them as she departs.

But when they are alone once more Cecil disentangles his hand, tucking it back in his lap. His body language is suddenly shy and downcast again. “Listen, Carlos,” he starts, then seems to be having trouble finding the next words.  

Carlos wants to provide some kind of physical reassurance, but Cecil is all hunched in on himself now, guarding his extremities. He tries to convey safety and gentleness with his voice instead. “Yes, baby?” There is a startled glance, and Carlos realizes that this is the first time he’s actually used the endearment - out loud anyway. “What is it?”

A sigh. “I know it must be frustrating… dating me… I mean. I know I don’t.... That I’m not….” He tries again, lowering his voice even further. “I know we’re moving really slowly.” He is practically vibrating with embarrassment now.

It is complete agony, having this conversation with a table between them. “Baby! Baby look at me. It’s _fine_. I’m not going anywhere. Things take as long as they take, and I have had the most wonderful month with you.” He feels a stab of doubt. “But… just to make sure we’re clear… you are _interested_ in the physical side of things, right? Like, eventually?”

Cecil is staring at the table again, and his voice is almost inaudible, but the tone is unmistakable.  “Oh! Oh _yes_. I am _definitely_ , um... interested.”

Oh god. That _voice_. Carlos feels his own “interest” growing, and suddenly he’s glad he has the table to hide behind. He swallows, and lets out a shuddery breath. “Ok. Ok, good. Then there’s no problem here. Because Cecil?” He waits until Cecil looks back up, and holds his gaze. “I love you.”  

Cecil looks as if he might float away - exhausted, relieved, and utterly smitten. “Oh, _Carlos_. I love you too.”

He holds out his hands, still tentative, and Carlos quickly claims them with his own. They sit that way, fingers entwined, while the watches of the world tick on, unheeded. Once again, in Night Vale, time is slowing down.


	3. Not a Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos is naive. Cecil is inexperienced. Together they... roll around on the floor a lot.

“I’m not mad.” Cecil tosses his keys onto a table and slumps down onto the sofa, resting his head in his hands. “Really. I’m not.”

Carlos, who has followed him meekly into the apartment, perches nervously on the edge of the cushion beside him. There is a tense silence, during which Cecil removes his glasses and takes several deep breaths, rubbing his temples. “Will you just explain to me, please,” he says, straightening. “What you were thinking? You could have been detained. You were detained! You’re just lucky I had some favors to call in with the SSP, or some nice gentlemen in balaclavas would be tucking you into bed in the Abandoned Mine Shaft tonight.”

Not meeting his eye, Carlos clears his throat. “I. Um. Thought it was a joke. The whole wheat thing.” He studies his hands. “You know, like… `I’m a chocoholic’ or whatever.”

Cecil is speechless for several moments. Then he feels his lips beginning to twitch. “A… chocoholic.” He is trying very hard to keep a straight face, but he can feel himself losing the battle.

Carlos stares back at him, all round-eyed innocence. “Yes! I’m sorry! I didn’t realize wheat products were so serious!”

And then they are both laughing so hard they have to hold onto one another to keep from falling off the couch. It seems to go on for ages: whenever the hilarity starts to die down into desultory giggles, one of them murmurs “chocoholic,” and sets them both off again. Eventually Carlos does tumble off the couch, and sprawls there on the rug, exhausted.

Cecil looks fondly down at him. “You are the most ridiculous man.”

“And you, my dear, are the ridiculous man who loves me.” Carlos props himself up on one elbow. “Hey. Come here.” Despite the flutter of nervousness in his stomach, Cecil lowers himself carefully to the floor to lay alongside his boyfriend. Carlos raises a hand and begins tracing a finger over Cecil’s lips, cheeks, and eyelids. “You are so beautiful, you know,” he murmurs. “You’re always saying that to me, but you’re the beautiful one.”

Cecil can feel his pulse quickening, his breath growing shallow… the warmth of Carlos’s body through his clothes. He wants to melt into that warmth and let it carry him away from himself. But there it is - the fear. The almost unbearable urge to flee.

He is not going to listen to that voice tonight.

When Carlos leans forward to offer a tentative kiss, Cecil returns it ardently, wiggling closer to press their bodies together. He opens his mouth and surrenders to feeling, months of carefully controlled desire unraveling into a cacophony of taste, smell, and touch. Carlos bites his lip and he hears himself cry out, distantly astonished to be making these kinds of sounds.

Somehow he is on top now, straddling the scientist and grinding against the hardness beneath him. When he moves to slide his hands up under the flannel shirt, Carlos grabs his wrists, stopping him. “Wait,” he says, breathing heavily and looking up through unfairly long eyelashes.

“How can you expect me to wait when you look at me like that…” Cecil leans over for another kiss, but Carlos is struggling to sit up.

“Seriously, Ceec. Wait.” He takes a moment to regain control of himself, wiggling out from under his libidinous boyfriend to resettle himself on the couch. “We should talk before this goes any further. You know,” he grins, “while we still have the power of speech and stuff.”

Cecil reluctantly joins him (vaguely mortified, now that the mood has shifted). “Ok. Sure.” He tries to assume a casual air. “What’s up?”

Carlos takes hold of his hands. “Um… there’s no easy way to ask this, so I’m just gonna come right out with it. Baby… are you a virgin?”

Oh god. Here it is. Cecil feels his hands starting to shake. He gives a tiny nod.

Carlos pulls him closer, protective. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A tiny shake of the head, and then a sigh. “I don’t know. It just… never happened. It’s a small town, you know? There were a couple of near things, but it just never quite… happened.” He hides his face against Carlos’s neck, thoroughly humiliated.

“Shh… shh, baby, it’s ok.” Carlos is stroking his hair, and his fingers feel like everything that’s good in the world. “It’s just that… if you’ve never done it before, I want to be careful. I want it to be special. I don’t want to just… rush into it. And maybe hurt you.”

Cecil can’t speak. If he opens his mouth, he doesn’t know if he will laugh or cry. He has carried this shame for so long, and now he’s sharing it with this man - this perfect, ridiculous creature who waltzes into the Ralph’s and demands whole wheat pasta. His ridiculous creature. His Carlos. Who is somehow taking this secret, this shame, and transforming it into something delicate and beautiful. Something to be protected. “Perfect Carlos,” he finally whispers. Then, “When?”

“Soon,” comes the reply, and there is more than a hint of frustrated longing in it. “I promise you, baby. If you want this, we’ll make sure it happens soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I write Carlos with a lot less gravitas than many people do (especially in this), but Dylan Marron is such a sillybug that I can't imagine him being all smoldering.


	4. Not Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight's the night, and all of Night Vale knows it!

Night Vale is not an easy place to find these kinds of things. It doesn’t help that he’s been banned from the Ralph’s indefinitely, but one would think there would be a CVS or a Rite Aid or something. Instead, there’s just the dusty old drugstore in Old Town, complete with a soda fountain straight out of a Debbie Reynolds movie.

He makes a mental note to look for a Debbie Reynolds movie for their next date night. Somehow, he suspects Cecil would enjoy that. But not tonight! Tonight is for other things… just as soon as he can work up the courage to walk into that creepy store and ask for what he needs. At the moment, he’s standing outside, chin in hand, pretending to be considering the sidewalk scientifically.

“Ok Carlos. Come on.” He mutters it aloud, and looks around self-consciously, only to realize that the other two people on the street appear to be conversing with lamp posts. He straightens his lab coat and pushes open the door, which gives a merry jingle to announce his presence.

“Hello, Mr. Scientist,” calls the teenage girl at the counter. “Can I help you find anything?” Oh, fantastic. He gives her a cheery wave and a head shake, and strides purposefully towards the back of the store. Now, where would these things fit into the obscure Night Vale taxonomy of the universe? At home he would look under “family planning,” but he’s pretty sure that kind of thing is  decided by the City Council around here.

After a fruitless search involving three full circuits around the store, he is forced to resort to the teenager. Leaning over the counter as far as he can reach, he whispers, “Do you know where I can find the… um…. prophylactics? And associated items?”

Her eyes widen. “I’m not sure we have the authority to grant access to that kind of thing! Have you tried chanting?”

Getting onto his tiptoes and speaking even more quietly, he tries again. “I mean… condoms. And lubricant.”

Now the girl’s smile is even wider than her eyes. “Oh. My. Gods. Is tonight the night?! I’m SO HAPPY for you guys!”

In the past Carlos has never believed the stories about spontaneous human combustion, but right at this moment, he can understand the impulse. Leave it to Night Vale to make this process as difficult as possible. “Um, thanks. Can you just…?” He gives her a pleading look.

“Oh! Of course. We keep them behind the counter. Regulations and stuff.” She gives him her best attempt at a stern gaze. “I assume you’ve filled out all the paperwork?”

Cecil had, thankfully. Carlos nods, pays for the supplies, endures a few more minutes of congratulatory gushing and finally, mercifully, flees the scene.

*

When he knocks, Cecil opens the door a tiny crack and peeks through the opening. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I’m late again,” begins Carlos, but before he can continue, Cecil is grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him through the door and into the living room, talking as they go.  

“Hush. Never mind that. I knew as soon as you told me what you were doing that it would take longer than you thought. Um. Sorry about that, though. Was it Min-jun?”

“The girl at the store? I didn’t get her name, I just… what are you wearing?!” For the first time, he steps back to look at Cecil, who is wrapped in something that manages to be both silky and feathery, and who is now blushing a marvelous shade of fuchsia which actually kind of sets off the… robe?

“Do you like it? I wanted to put on something special.” Cecil’s eyes are downcast, his tone uncertain.

The store and its indignities are instantly forgotten as Carlos rushes over to take his befeathered darling in his arms. “Oh, honey. You look lovely.” Cecil melts against him, stooping slightly to deliver a kiss that quickly turns ferocious, and the whole evening is in danger of being consummated right here if Carlos doesn’t act quickly. Taking a deep breath, he holds Cecil at arm’s length. “Ok… ok. You. Go to the bedroom and wait for me.”

Cecil gives a tiny pout, but obeys. Gathering his wits, his supplies, and his notebook, and quickly pouring two glasses of wine, Carlos follows. Cecil is waiting, perched on the edge of the bed, bouncing up and down with nervousness. Carlos lays everything out on the bedside table. “All right, Mr. Palmer. This is going to be a scientific experiment.”

This tactic involves a certain degree of calculated risk, but Cecil reacts exactly as he’d hoped, relaxing instantly, eyes glazing over and lips parting slightly. “What… kind of experiment?” His voice is low and drenched with desire.

“I’m going to need you to sit here, and then eventually lie down, and I’m going to touch your body. If you like the way I’m touching you, I want you to say ‘green’. If you’re not sure, you can say ‘yellow’. And if, at any point, you want me to stop doing something, you say ‘red’. Is that clear?”

Cecil nods slightly, so Carlos leans forward and kisses him - lightly at first, but then more forcefully, open-mouthed, tangling their tongues together. After several moments, he sits back and waits for a reaction. Eyes closed, Cecil murmurs, “Green.”

Pulling him close, Carlos runs his tongue up Cecil’s slender neck and around the perimeter of his ear, pausing to bite gently on the earlobe.

“Green!” It’s almost a squeak.

So far things haven’t progressed any further than they’ve gone on their most recent dates, but this  is the moment of truth. “Could you please lie down on the bed for me, Mr. Palmer?” Cecil quickly obliges, and Carlos kneels beside him, first running his hands all over the outside of the strange garment, and drawing a delighted “green” from his boyfriend. Then he moves to untie the sash, pausing to give Cecil a chance to react. “Green?”

“Green!”

He peels open the robe and slides it off of Cecil’s shoulders, then begins to caress the bare skin underneath - shoulders, arms, chest. Soft and delicate stomach. Replacing his hands with his mouth, he kisses his way from Cecil’s neck all the way down to the graceful curve of his pelvic bone, which he bites gently, drawing a shudder.

“Green, oh, green… gods!”

Then he slides a tentative finger under the waistband of the silk boxers. “Green?”

Cecil raises his head slightly to look him in the eyes. “Green, yes, so very green. Please, Carlos.” He arches his back while Carlos slides the boxer shorts down and off, tossing them aside. Cecil’s reaction to his warm, eager mouth is wordless, but unmistakably enthusiastic, and Carlos abandons the game to focus on delivering as much pleasure as his darling can stand. It doesn’t take long before Cecil is crying out his name, fists clutching at the sheets, lost in a void made of pure delight.

Afterwards, Carlos gathers the exhausted man into his lap and rocks him, murmuring nonsense into his sweaty hair. “That was wonderful, baby… you were wonderful… you did so well…”

Cecil breathes a contented sigh into his chest. “Thank you. For everything. Thank you so much, my Carlos.” Then he tenses slightly. “But… what about you? Can I…”

Carlos kisses the top of his head. “Not tonight, baby. We’ll have plenty of time for that later. Tonight was just for you.” As it turns out, he reflects, they didn’t even end up needing the hard-won supplies from the horrible drugstore. If Cecil's behavior tonight is any indication though, they will be needing them. Soon. 


	5. Not What You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Cecil doing with these scarves? And those candles"?

“Hi babe…. dinner’s at six, right? I’ll… um… what is…oh, sorry! I’ll definitely be home by then. Love you!”

Allowing himself a grin - half wicked, half gleeful - Cecil saves the voicemail and pockets his phone. He can tell by the tone of voice that Carlos is in 100% Science Mode and will not be leaving the lab anywhere close to 6:00. Good.

Now, to plan. Wardrobe: silky tunic, sarouel pants. Carlos has a thing about touching his body through interesting textures, ever since that first gorgeous experience. Supplies: various diaphanous scarves gathered from around the house (mainly off the tops of lamps - Carlos is always fussing at him about that, saying he’s going to set the whole place on fire one day).

Anything else? Ah… candles. It would be typical of Carlos to consider laboratory fluorescents to be “mood lighting,” but one has to draw the line somewhere. Cecil has come a long way since the days when a kiss turned him into a stammering mess, but he’s not about to enact this evening’s plan under that kind of glare.

Ok. Ok. He stops just outside the door and offers a brief prayer up to any listening gods. “Ok, Palmer. Deep breaths. You’re mysterious, sexy, and hip as heck.”

“Darn right you are!” comes a voice from the bushes, and Cecil gives a friendly wave to the shadowy figure, deliberately choosing not to be mortified that his little pep talk was overheard. At least someone has faith in him.

*

At 6:15, there is exactly one car remaining in the lab’s little parking lot. Cecil parks as far away from the door as possible in order to minimize the sounds of his tires on the gravel, but honestly, he could probably drive directly over Carlos’s skull at this point without him noticing. And with that thought, a clench of doubt in his stomach: what if Carlos is so wrapped up in science that this whole idea will only annoy him? Worse, what if he just goes along to be a good sport or something?

No. Cecil forces himself to return to a sense memory: his head supported by a strong shoulder; gentle fingers stroking his hair. He is safe. He will be safe.

Indeed, when Carlos finally hears him tapping at the window, the look on his face is not one of irritation, but guilt. Five seconds later he’s a small scientific tornado, attempting  to unlock the door, look at his watch, and gather his belongings all at once, while simultaneously maintaining a steady stream of apology. He stops, confused, when Cecil steps in, locks the door behind himself and then stands there, blocking it. “It’s ok,” he says, simply.

Carlos is still staring at him, perplexed, and Cecil can almost see the mental gears grinding painfully together as they attempt to switch from science to guilt to… whatever Cecil is here for. “What are you doing here,” he finally asks, then immediately backtracks. “Wait! That came out wrong. I’m glad you’re here! Hi! But seriously… what’s going on?”

Under this semi-scientific scrutiny, Cecil can feel his face getting hot. So much for sexy and hip. He will not stammer. He will NOT stammer. “I had an idea.” He forms the words very deliberately, but unfortunately, not suggestively at all. Oh, for heaven’s sake (no thought crime intended)! How did this go before, in his head? He tries again. “You should sit down.”

Carlos looks genuinely freaked out. He starts pacing the floor, pulling distractedly at his hair. “Oh my god. Cecil. I’m so sorry. I’m totally inconsiderate. I probably deserve this, but I promise, I can do better about the time thing…”

“STOP.” The authority in his own voice is a surprise - he thinks of the person behind that voice as Work Cecil - but it is also effective. Carlos stops. “SIT. DOWN.” Carlos sits on a bench. Meekly. “I… am going to kiss you now. Is that ok?” Carlos nods.

Cecil perches hesitantly beside him and brushes the gentlest of kisses across his lips. “Everything is ok. I did this all wrong. But everything is ok.” He whispers it, lips grazing the other man’s ear.

Carlos’s head droops onto his shoulder. “I’m... confused. What were you trying to do?” Digging around in his satchel, Cecil comes up with a handful of scarves, which he passes wordlessly over to his boyfriend. “What is… were you going to burn down my lab?!”

Deep breath. Just pull it off like a band-aid, Palmer. You cannot possibly get any more ridiculous than you are at this moment. “No. Actually, I was going to blindfold you, tie your hands behind your back, and then do unspeakable things to you. And there were going to be candles.” A pause. “Um, not that I was going to do the unspeakable things with the candles! Or burn down your lab. They were just for. You know. Light.”

He waits for the laughter to begin, but when he finally looks up, Carlos is looking back at him with an odd expression on his face. “You… were going to respond to my chronic lateness by coming to my lab and giving me sexual favors.”

Are those… tears? Cecil is torn between explaining further and fixing the Carlos Is Crying situation, which is firmly Not Ok and actually kind of alarming. He tries to do both, pulling the sniffling scientist into his lap and rocking him as he talks. “I just wanted, you know. To do something nice for you. You’ve been so patient with me… you’ve given me so many things. But then I show up like some kind of mysterious scarf-bearing entity and I just end up freaking you out. Ugh.”

Carlos’s head snaps up, his expression suddenly fierce. “Don’t you dare try to blame this on yourself. You are the sweetest, most understanding boyfriend, and no one has ever…” He draws a shuddery breath which seems to imply a world of loneliness. “God, Cecil. I’ve never met anyone like you. I love you so fucking much. And the weird thing is… you seem to love me too.”

“Of course. Instantly and always, my Carlos.” On this point, there is no hesitation or doubt.

“I’m going to try to deserve that. I really am.” Gathering up the bundle of scarves, he rises and offers Cecil a hand. “But for now… why don’t we get a pizza, go home, and do something super weird with these scarves.” He smirks. “For science!”

Cecil raises an eyebrow and allows himself to be guided to the door. “Well, obviously. Anything for science.” As he turns off the lights, he reflects that maybe, under the right circumstances, fluorescent bulbs can be romantic after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was really going to be sex in this chapter, but apparently they had some issues to work through instead.


	6. Not Certain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil resettles himself, abandoning his tea on the end table, and Carlos begins, ever so gently, to comb out the tangles in the silky locks. He tries to ignore the feeling of Cecil’s ass, snug against the front of his own (suddenly tight) pants. To distract himself, he starts reciting scientific facts about hair. “Did you know,” he murmurs, “That there are approximately five million hair follicles on the human body?”

_“What have you done to my cat, you monster!”_

That’s all it took. Even before Intern Jeremy managed to queue the Weather, Carlos was halfway to the lab door, keys in hand. As an afterthought, he called over his shoulder that someone should probably turn off his bunsen burner, and then he was gone, jumping into his car and making the trip across town in half the usual time.

Now he waits. The last time he tried to enter the Strex-controlled radio station, things did not go well. They wanted him to show identification, which, for some reason, he doesn’t seem to possess? Anyway, it’s best if he waits for Cecil out here, helplessly listening to the last, excruciating, few minutes of the show on the car radio. As soon as he hears that final “good night,” he’s out of the car, hovering nervously near the main doors.

When Cecil emerges, he is walking at a pace that's neither fast nor slow, and his expression is carefully composed. He doesn’t pause as Carlos takes his arm, but under his breath he murmurs, “Just. Keep. Walking.” His face is somewhere between gray and green, and he is limping slightly, but he climbs into the passenger seat of the hybrid as if it’s an ordinary summer evening.

Carlos understands the need to put distance between themselves and Strex - if that’s even possible -  so he wordlessly starts the car and heads towards the animal hospital, glancing over at Cecil every few moments. Now that he is no longer being observed, Cecil is shivering uncontrollably, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. Carlos reaches for his hand. “Baby.” No response. “Baby, I’m here. Do you feel me?” A slight squeeze of the hand. “What do you need from me, honey? What can I do?”

Silence for ten seconds. Twenty. Then, almost inaudible: “I need to see him. Then… please take me home.”

*

Having roused himself long enough to arrange for Khoshekh’s care, Cecil has reverted to a near-catatonic state. He’s curled in the passenger seat, knees to chest, forehead against the window. Staring at nothing. Carlos almost speaks several times, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

When they pull into their own garage, Cecil jerks the door handle open and starts to gingerly extract himself from the car. “Wait,” says Carlos, reaching for him. “Let me - “

Cecil practically slaps his hand away. “I’m FINE,” he snaps. “You don’t have to baby me.” He scrambles out, slamming the door behind him, but halfway to the house he crumples to the ground, head in his hands, sobbing.

Carlos is there in half a second, crouching to wrap his arms around the shivering man. “Hey… shh… it’s ok…it’s going to be ok, baby…” The words feel so inadequate. Never, in his lifetime of scientific inquiry, has the world felt so big and so threatening.

“I’m so sorry.” Cecil is clinging to him, soaking his shirt with tears. “I can’t believe I was unkind to you. I’m so, so sorry, my Carlos.”

“Oh, Ceec.... That doesn’t matter. Come on.” Carlos half-carries the other man into the house, supporting him to the couch, where he immediately wraps himself in a blanket and curls up in a ball, remaining there as Carlos carefully rolls up his pants leg and cleans the wound made by the bio-machine. Some distant part of Carlos is fascinated by that entire turn of events, as well as the possibilities inherent in bio-machinery, but that part of his brain has no business here today.

With the wound safely bandaged, they sit in silence as the late afternoon light slowly fades from the room. Carlos wants to be useful -  wants to turn the overwhelming surge of love and worry inside him into some kind of tangible action -  but he doesn’t know what to do. He can bandage a wound, but he can’t fix… this. This whole, horrible mess. For lack of any other ideas, he puts a tentative hand on Cecil’s hip and asks, “Do you want a cup of tea?” A small sound -  more or less affirmative. Carlos starts to rise, but a hand darts out from under the blanket to encircle his wrist.

“Come right back, ok?” Cecil’s voice is shaky; filled with a new and terrible uncertainty. Carlos responds by pulling the slender hand to his mouth and covering it with tiny kisses.

“Of course. Two minutes, honey bunny.” As good as his word, he returns shortly with a steaming pink mug (bearing the incongruous slogan, “Don’t Mess With the Princess”... or maybe it is congruous, come to think of it). “Here you go. Lavender mint.”

Cecil shifts himself, wincing slightly, into a sitting position, and wraps his hands around the mug. “Mmmm…” he breathes. “Smells like you.” The timbre of his voice implies that this is a very good thing.

Carlos feels the blood rushing to his face in an untimely blush. How can Cecil manage to sound that sexy at a time like this? Taking a deep breath, he recites the periodic table in his head until his arousal subsides. Mostly. Then, noticing that Cecil’s long black hair is hanging in an unruly tangle around his shoulders, he asks, “Want me to brush your hair?”

“Oh _gods_ , yes,” comes the soft reply. “That may the best idea you’ve ever had.”

 _I can think of even better one_ s, Carlos mentally retorts, then immediately forces his thoughts back to the periodic table as he fetches a brush and comb. _Neither the time nor the place, Carlos_. “C’mere, princess,” he says, settling himself at one end of the couch and patting the space between his legs.

Cecil resettles himself, abandoning his tea on the end table, and Carlos begins, ever so gently, to comb out the tangles in the silky locks. He tries to ignore the feeling of Cecil’s ass, snug against the front of his own (suddenly tight) pants. To distract himself, he starts reciting scientific facts about hair. “Did you know,” he murmurs, “That there are approximately five million hair follicles on the human body?”

“Mmmm. I did not,” Cecil purrs, arching his back slightly.

God, that’s not helping. Well, it’s not helping _Carlos_ , but it does seem to be helping Cecil, in a sense, so he carries on. “Yep! And every one of those follicles is fully formed by the time a fetus is five months old.” Switching to the wooden paddle brush, he draws it through the other man’s hair in long, gentle strokes. “Hair can cover the entire human body,” he continues, “with the exception of four places: the soles of your feet, the palms of your hands, your mucous membranes, and your lips.”

Taking hold of one of Carlos’s legs, Cecil runs a finger along the bottom of the bare foot. “Hmmm. You’re right, Mr. Scientist. No hair.”

Letting out an undignified giggle, Carlos flails and tries to squirm away. “Hey now! Stop it!”

Releasing the foot and immediately grabbing a wrist instead, Cecil neatly extracts the brush and lays it aside. “How about here? I think we should check your… hypothesis, right?”

“Hey!! What are you - “ His protest is cut short as he feels Cecil’s hot breath against his palm, followed by his tongue. He finds himself rolling his hips forward to grind against the other man’s ass, letting out an involuntary moan as he does so.

“What’s the matter?” Cecil’s voice is dark with desire. “No more science?” He turns around suddenly to bring himself face to face with Carlos, pinning him to the couch.

It is a struggle to maintain any kind of control, but Carlos is determined to be the strong one here. “Ceec… baby… I’m not sure this is a good idea right now.” Also, when did Cecil become some kind of god of the sex kittens? Not for the first time, Carlos suspects that he may have created a monster when he deflowered Cecil Gershwin Palmer.

In lieu of reply, Cecil pins his wrists above his head and presses him into the couch with an open-mouthed kiss. When he comes up for air, eyes fluttering open, he whispers, “Seriously, Carlos: this is what I need right now. I need to be in my body. I need to feel you here with me. Is that ok?” To that, Carlos can only nod, which he barely has time to do before Cecil is pressing their mouths together again; running his tongue along the inside of Carlos’s teeth; nibbling gently at his lower lip. Surrendering to desire, Carlos wraps his legs around his beautiful princess, grinding furiously against him.

After a few minutes of this maddening friction, Cecil lets out a frustrated tsk. “Ugh. Clothes! Why are they still on?!” Making haste to remedy the situation, he strips, flinging professional attire in all directions, then, more slowly and teasingly, undresses Carlos, who is still lying beneath him in a lust-addled daze.

At last they are pressed together, skin to skin, and it is perfect. “You were wrong earlier,” notes Carlos, panting slightly.

“Hmm? I’m never wrong.” Cecil punctuates the statement with a rather sharp bite to Carlos’s left earlobe, which draws a whimper.

“Y-yes… what you said about the best idea…. this is the best idea, actually… ‘m a scientist…. know… best ideas….” He realizes that he is babbling now, because Cecil is licking down his stomach and starting to do other, incredible things with his mouth. And - oh! - his fingers. Carlos opts to abandon words for the time being.

*

Later, in the darkness of their bedroom, Carlos feels Cecil begin to tremble in his arms. “Baby? What is it?”

“I’m scared, Carlos.” It’s barely a whisper. “I’m scared for Khoshekh, and I’m scared for Night Vale, and I’m scared for me. I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to be the Voice, but the things I have to say for them…” His voice catches. “And most of all, I’m scared for you. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to you and… Carlos? They know that. They know what you mean to me, and that terrifies me.”  

“Shh… nothing’s going to happen to me…” He traces gentle circles on Cecil’s back, trying to radiate comfort and safety. “I’ll always be here for you.”

“You don’t know that.” The tone is flat, impassive. “You can never know that in Night Vale, not even at the best of times, and now…” He trails off.

Carlos sighs. “You’re right. I mean, even where I come from, it’s not possible, scientifically, to know that.” He pulls Cecil closer, entwining their fingers and whispering into his ear. “But I will be fine. Somehow. And wherever I am, no matter what happens, I will love you. Always.”

Cecil relaxes slightly. “I love you too. So much.” He presses closer, settling himself against Carlos’s chest. After a time, his breathing becomes regular, but even in sleep his grip on Carlos’s hand never slackens.

 _I won’t let go either_ , Carlos thinks. He hopes it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in case you too would like some tea that smells like Carlos: 
> 
> http://amzn.com/B0011DMV5M


End file.
